The Comforter and The Parting Glass
by Elizabeth Athineu
Summary: Thranduil receives comfort from a friend during two troubling times (not cannon with the timeline given in the Appendices). Based upon an incredible piece of artwork called (2) on DA by InFelizLir. Featuring lyrics inspired by the song: 'The Parting Glass' by Loreena McKennitt.


**The Comforter and The Parting Glass**

_(Quenya and Sindarin translations at the bottom of the story)_

"Thranduil, _mellon nin (_1); please, I pray you, speak your heart before you fade and leave your son to this bleak loss alone from birth," Elrond pleaded.

Thranduil looked back at his friend, eyes blazing. "Do not speak to me of that little monster," he snarled hatefully. Elrond's heart ached terribly at the words. They were from a grieving husband, too grieved to be a father. This meant that the boy would grow too grieved to be a son. Elrond gently held out one hand towards his friend. Thranduil whirled away, gasping and clutching his chest, sobbing all the harder. "I want Caradathil, Elrond, I want her now!"

"She is gone, Thranduil. Gone to be with her ancestors, with your ancestors, awaiting the day that you will shuffle off this form and figure made to soothe the minds and hearts of forest and man," Elrond soothed as best he could, placing one hand on his friend's shoulder and the other over his heart. "I know your loss, my friend. I, too, long for Celebrian every moment of every day."

"You know nothing of loss!" Thranduil snapped furiously, shoving the half-elven lord's hands away and stepping back, glaring. He pointed accusingly at Elrond and trembled as tears began to stream down each eye slowly, like the first drops of rain against a mountain crag readying to form in time a river running with torrential bereavement. "Celebrian was brought back to you. The monsters that ravaged her spirit and body were slain and her honor avenged. What am I to do with the savage little beast that tore blood from my beloved?! Murdered by the life she bore!"

"You do ill to yourself and your people to speak such things," Elrond chastised as cautiously, but firmly as possible as Thranduil began to tremble all the more. He lowered his hand, standing in awkward vulnerability in the presence of the centered Lord of Rivendell. "Mourn for Caradathil, but do not grieve your son to do so. Have you not already lost four sons before him?"

"You would plunge my mind back into such blackness when I need hope at its highest?!" Thranduil demanded. He waved a hand angrily. "Away with you, then! I need none of your dark histories, Elrond Peredhel (2)."

"I came not to relive nor regale such a painful past, Elvenking Thranduil. You have shown such strength and candor from the first time you took up a sword and the very first moment you spared a life," Elrond offered. Thranduil turned away, clenching one fist to fight the pain and tears swelling and burning so drastically within him. "I came only as your friend, your kindred, your council, and a healer."

Thranduil suddenly perked up. He whirled around. "Yes," he whispered.

Elrond looked at him in confusion and concern. Thranduil suddenly grasped him tightly by the wrist and hurried out of the hallway. Elrond kept pace as best he could, but could've sworn that Thranduil was gliding through the halls with the speed of the fastest of the horses of Rohan. Thranduil led them through several corridors and ornate archways. Past lines of slow, dim glowing candles tended by maidens in purest white with black cowls for mourning and guards wearing black sashes for the same reason who lowered their gaze as the king swept by. Elrond frowned as he realized where they were going. They came to a set of large, plaited glass doors embossed with gold symbols and prayers . . . the chapel for the dead or dying. Thranduil's grip on Elrond's wrist grew tighter, but the half-elven could feel the trembling growing greater and a cool hint of sweat forming in the iron bands that were Thranduil's fingers.

He halted and felt himself grow pale at the sight in the center of the room. Up a small central staircase with only nine wide steps was a large oak carven table meant to act as a semi altar. The dead were not worshipped per se, but they were revered until their parting ceremony. Elrond felt Thranduil's grip finally release and he swooped up the steps to his late wife's side, touching her pale, pale cheek with the very same tenderness he always had. They had lost four strong and capable sons to battles and orc raids when they had been very young. A wisewoman had told the Elvenking that the loss weighed so heavily on the she-elf's heart that she would not survive the death or even the birth of a fifth. The two had ignored this and dove straight into years of passion and trysting. When the news of her swelling with child came to Thranduil he had never felt happier. This child he could protect; prince or princess it would be at their parents' side, always protected by the unending love of the perfectly affectionate Caradathil and the insurmountable strength and cunning of Thranduil the Elvenking of Greenwood the Great, Lord of the Northwood.

Instead, Caradathil had grown weak in her last days, a strange illness that the physicians claimed had come from river-poisoning that had affected even some of the people in Laketown though with greater fatalities and less chance of survival. The poison alone had not been enough to take the life of a she-elf, but in labor it overtook her blood as it strove to protect her unborn child more than her own life. While Caradathil was pleased at this in paradise, it grieved the Elvenking more than any enemy ever could have. Thranduil shook away the memory and looked over at Elrond, tears hovering at the horizon beyond his gaze as he pleaded silently with his friend. Elrond moved a few paces closer and looked down sadly at the form of Caradathil. He sighed and reached down, touching her cold pale hand for a beat and then looking back at Thranduil.

"I am sorry, mellon nin, but this not something I can heal," Elrond said sadly.

"How dare you! Herald of Gil Galad, I am king while you are nothing more than an innkeeper who fancies himself a sentry," Thranduil snarled cruelly. "You can heal her, I know you can. Only you can undo this, you are the greatest healer in all of Middle Earth. Now give me back my wife!"

"Thranduil, she has long since departed. Caradathil is gone. What remains in this is simply her beauty lingering on the face of our earth just as her memory will linger a glistening star in our legacy," Elrond argued, trying to force his friend to see reason now more than ever. "I cannot disturb nor undo the dead."

"Then find another way, do something!" Thranduil pleaded. Elrond shook his head. Desperation began to fill the Elvenking and he darted away from Caradathil's well preserved and lovely corpse, dressed in sparkling silver and lying as peacefully as any sleeping she-elf. Elrond frowned at Thranduil, seeing that he was too distraught for reason, and turned to leave the room. Thranduil quickly caught up to him in the hallway, grabbing him desperately by the shoulders and turning him forcefully to face him. Elrond's heart sank as he saw the wild panic in the Elvenking's eyes. "Please, Lord Elrond, please," he whispered. Elrond sighed and looked down. "I beg you, I will do anything, anything to have her back. If not as a she-elf, then as a swan! A silvery graceful swan! Is that not what she might've been in life with the lithe poise in her dancing?"

"There can be no such thing done, Thranduil," Elrond countered sadly.

"A dove then," Thranduil continued to plead. "Small, fragile, but ever so affectionate, so quiet, and so unassuming! Is that not what she was in life with the delicate grace she exuded."

"She was, indeed, graceful and kind. Quiet at times most assuredly, Thranduil, and quite unassuming, but she cannot return to you," Elrond said more firmly this time. "Neither as swan nor dove nor even a ray of moonlight kissing your cheek as she bids you goodnight. Those days are past, Thranduil." Elrond put his hand once more on his friend's shoulder. "You must seek to cling to what here remains of her spirit and sacrifice."

"No," Thranduil whispered, practically hissed, between tight lips. "I will not give that little beast what should've been Caradathil's; not the love I had for her, not the throne she improved with just her presence, and certainly not the time she should have been given here!"

"It is not our decision, nay, not in the wisdom of the Maiar themselves to determine what time should have been our own," Elrond corrected. Thranduil turned away grasping his brow. "And I cannot add to what does not exist for her future."

"Then what good are your skills? Hmmmm? What do they benefit you if you cannot revive the dead deserving of a life longer lived?" Thranduil said, turning back to the form of his departed beloved, glowing like the last few moments of a star before it fades. "Elrond, please," Thranduil whispered. He turned back to his friend, eyes now timid and terrified. "I am nothing without her."

"I believed the very same thing when Celebrian had been captured," Elrond said, lowering his gaze for a moment and then grasping his friend's arm once more. "I know well how very heavy your burden is."

"You know nothing!" Thranduil suddenly snapped. Elrond took a step back in shock. Thranduil balled both hands into fists and loomed furiously over his friend and consul. "Celebrian was returned to you, restored by you! Her wounds were well-healed, you slaved night and day for a week just to soothe her pain and then then you began healing her! She returned to you, Elrond; she and both your sons retrieved her and dispatched the enemies with justice thrilled and fitly meted out! You have your sons and . . ." Thranduil's voice began to quake all the more. " . . . and Arwen, the very form of her mother." Elrond's expression sank as Thranduil's gaze met his with searing disdain. "You know nothing of loss."

"Celebrian never returned to me and neither did Ellodan or Elrohir; they were all of them killed in that cavern. She was never the same, I never had the moments we once shared; her eyes, Thranduil. You could tell by her eyes that she was gone and would never return," Elrond replied shaking his head sorrowfully. "And as for my sons they died in battle, consumed by a fierce appetite for harm against all those that had defiled their mother. No, Thranduil, my wife was never returned to me nor my sons. I healed what I could of her, but I sent her form away to the Undying Lands where her soul already awaited her."

"But you had her heartbeat," Thranduil countered in a harsh whisper. "You held her, you felt her, and she was still warm. Affection or not you still had her, you know nothing of my loss!" Thranduil ranted as he slunk down onto a couch overlooking one of the grand balconies in Greenwood the Great. Gray, orange, and brown leaves swirled in with a soft breeze. The clouds and sky gave a sickening moan; not the subtle growl of thunder or the howl of the wind, but a nauseating groaning as if the very sky itself felt the loss and loathed the argument ensuing. Thranduil gripped his forehead in one hand and folded forward with more sobs. "You still had your sons."

Elrond slowly, cautiously, sat down beside him. He placed his hands over him once more, though Thranduil was so inundated by utter grief and trembling beneath the weight of such loss that he had neither the presence nor the aggravated enthusiasm to swat, shoo, shove, or shout at the Lord of Rivendell. Instead, he simply allowed it sobbing loudly. "Yes," Elrond said softly. He reached out and gently touched the side of Thranduil's head with fatherly tenderness. The tenderness was so genuine and so wonderful that the Elvenking felt confused for the briefest of moments and then slowly ceased sobbing. "Yes, Thranduil, I had my sons. And now, you have yours."

"How do I tell him?" Thranduil whispered in terror. "How will he acquire the mother's name (3) in his later years before he becomes fully grown?"

Elrond softly patted his friend's shoulder and stroked the side of his chest with brotherly comfort. "If you let him listen to the forest enough, Thranduil, the first whispers of the green leaves will tell him what she had wished to call him," Elrond offered. "But first he must have a father's name, something to predict the greatness of his future. Then when you have done with grieving and are ready to take him into the forests again, he will hear her," Elrond replied comfortingly, leaning his forehead against the other's for a beat. "And so will you."

Thranduil sat in utter silence for a moment. Elrond was known for his wisdom, there was no doubt about that at all. Elrond once again gave him what he could of an embrace, sat a few moments more gripping the Sindar's shoulder and pressing the healing touch of his hand against the other elf's heart. Thranduil could feel the soothing energy pulsing through him. What he wouldn't give to have Caradithil feel this healing magic from the Master of Rivendell. He sighed heavily and finally took Elrond's closest hand in his own, squeezing it gratefully. "Thank you, _mellon nin_," he said softly. Elrond took this as his cue that Thranduil wanted to be left alone for a beat. He nodded and stood slowly. "I am more grateful of your companionship than perhaps even I realize."

"I would not doubt that for a minute, Thranduil," Elrond replied. "You face a loss that few have survived and yet," Elrond said with a slight smile. "You survived. To what purpose, though?"

A loud, piercing scream interrupted the two. Both turned instinctively at the sound of an infant crying. Elrond glanced at his friend in concern. Thranduil shook his head. "That little prestad will be a bur in my saddle for the rest of my days," he muttered hatefully.

Elrond caught his friend by the shoulder as he made his way towards the new prince's bedchamber. The maidens that had been tending to him during the day were gone this night. That had been one of Caradathil's strict rules: no nannies nor nursemaids after dark. The boy needed the strength and protection of his family to be reasserted to him. Thranduil nodded and hesitated, but then followed Elrond silently down the halls and into the infant prince's room. He lingered in the doorway as Elrond approached the cradle and reached in, cooing and gently stroking the child's head as he pulled him into his arms and wrapped a silken shawl around him, cradling the baby close to his strong resounding heartbeat. The infant recognized in an instant that this was not his father nor was it the heartbeat of the beautiful creature that had carried him and given him life as he fell into light.

Another set of wailing and writhing in the Elf-Lord's arms prompted Elrond to do everything he could to soothe the child, but to no avail. Elrond was not Thranduil and clearly this child wanted his father as he could not have his mother. The Lord of Rivendell sighed and placed the infant back in his cradle summoning some nursemaids. When it was revealed that they had been dismissed for the evening, Elrond shot Thranduil an irritated glance and then placed a hand firmly, commandingly on the child, demanding that he be quiet and go back to sleep. When the infant was too tired from not having been fed or held properly by those he loved, exhaustion took him and he became silent. The only sign that the elfling was still alive were the lovely little rises and falls of his chest and belly as he breathed. Elrond shook his head, covering the baby more fully with the shawl as he turned away, passing a confused and still angered Thranduil grappling with a fading sense of grief for the time being. It would return in its same intensity, he knew this, but for now with it so distant having watched Elrond and his own firstborn son had sparked a strange sense of curiosity in him. He crept up to the cradle and withdrew the infant. The baby stirred, looking up at the Elvenking with piercing blue-grey eyes just like his father's.

Thranduil sighed, happy that the infant was just staring at him and not shrieking like a piglet being carried by the hind legs. He stepped out onto the balcony with the boy, gazing up at the canopy overhead and the stars that peeked through every so often. He suddenly heard babbling and gurgling alongside 'snap', 'crack', 'crunch', and 'rustle'. Thranduil turned, still quite lost in his thoughts. He groaned at the sight of the infant, having pulled down several small branches full of brilliant green leaves all over him. Didn't the child have a sense of propriety? He groaned and hurried back inside with the boy, placing him back in the cradle, leaves and all. The baby cooed happily, stroking the leaves, rolling in them, and holding them up to look at in his newborn grip until he yawned, rubbed his eyes, and finally simply went off to sleep. Thranduil sighed with relief and, not bothering to even pick the leaves out of the boy's hair, looked down at him with the briefest of chuckles, the first after two weeks after turmoil and sadness, He stroked the boy's face and smiled at thinking about what Caradathil would've said to this. "_We should call him what he wants_," he could almost hear her melodic voice saying. "_We should call him little green leaves . . . Legolas_."

"Yes," Thranduil thought aloud. "Legolas . . . green leaf." The baby let out a final coo and, while Thranduil still felt no need to show overt affection, he finally smiled and turned, leaving the prince's quarters and returning to the hallway. He slumped down on a couch, clutching his head in one hand. He began to sob again, the memories overwhelming him. Elrond, who had been waiting and indeed following Thranduil, swiftly took a seat beside him and began to comfort his friend once more. "I am not ready for this," the Elvenking sobbed. "I shall never be ready for it."

"There is no call for you to be ready to lose those you love, Thranduil, not ever," Elrond asserted, gripping his friend's shoulders more tightly. "But there is always call for those that care deeply for you to do so. I am here as your friend, Thranduil," Elrond offered. Thranduil sobbed all the harder and finally allowed his friend a full, brotherly embrace. "And I always will be."

(*)

It was most difficult for Thranduil to stand and watch as Caradathil's remains were entombed in the sepulcher beneath a deep part of the forest where Oropher had also been laid to rest. He was joined by those that had come to pay homage and mourn with him in as proper a manner possible. Elrond stood closest to him, eyes fixed more on his friend who stood stone-faced and nearly dazed as the form of Caradathil disappeared into the tomb and the place was sealed shut by magic yet again. Three of the Istari stood not far away, Gandalf at their lead with his head bowed low and eyes swollen from tears for his friend as well. Galadriel and Celeborn were opposite Elrond's side, remembering the news of Celebrian's loss and clinging to one another more closely than anyone in the realms had seen them do. This was a most troubling hour not merely because of the Elvenking's loss, but the great Galadriel was completely at a loss as to what she should say or even whether she should approach Thranduil at all. Legolas was situated behind his father in the arms of a nursemaid, watching the events with more keen understanding than a human infant albeit with the same confusion and mixed emotions. He wanted his father to hold him desperately sensing the despair around him, but something else told him to be still and quiet instead. All in all, no one was pleased to be where they were and were even less pleased at the why that had brought them there.

A few whispers began to go through the crowd watching as to whether or not words should be said. Thranduil shook himself and glanced at Elrond for guidance. The Lord of Rivendell nodded to him gently and turned to the others. "The hour grows late prematurely for us all at such a distressing time. Let us return to the palace and wait for the king to renew his own spirit," he announced. Thranduil thanked him inwardly, reminding himself that this gift of diplomacy and propriety had led him to being the herald of Gil Galad. As the other elves, wizards, nobles of the race of men, and even a few nobles of the dwarves turned and began to trek back to the palace, Elrond motioned for the nursemaid holding Legolas to hand him over. The maidservant placed the young, glowing and sparkly-eyed prince in Elrond's arms carefully. He slowly stepped to Thranduil's side and eased the boy into his father's arms. Legolas immediately became both settled and alert in the embrace of his father, grunting unhappily one minute and cooing curiously at the surroundings the next. Elrond sighed as Thranduil stared at him in concern. "Let him say goodbye as well. When the two of you are finished, we will be waiting for you in the palace."

Thranduil nodded and, as Elrond's footsteps faded into the rest of the thick forest, an odd emptiness finally settled over the king. This changed to an odd heaviness as Legolas shifted and reached out for the dolman sealed with rock and silver. Thranduil couldn't help but smile even as several tears streamed from his cheeks. For the first few weeks after Legolas' birth, while Caradathil lingered painfully, he wanted nothing to do with the boy and had spent every waking moment (which was quite a good bit of time as he had refused to sleep) at his beloved's side. Seven times she had asked to see their son, five times she had been obliged, and none of them also saw the king take him into his arms as well. Now the child felt more real, more necessary, and far less burdensome at least for the time at hand. Thranduil slowly moved towards the mound and knelt setting Legolas off to the side seated on the ground on a soft patch of moss surrounded by fallen leaves. While the child busied himself picking up each leaf and examining it with a comment made in his own infant tongue, Thranduil gingerly touched the resting place of his father and bride. His father had been a good and decent king, but Thranduil had not known him as well as he would've liked. He thought back to all of the comments made at Oropher's parting ceremony and glanced back at Legolas with a measure of shame. He shook himself. No, he would not be that kind of father no matter what this child had done to cost him his wife.

_It was not his fault and you know it_, he heard an ethereal whisper chastise him.

"Caradathil," he whispered aloud, looking up and around. His eyes welled with tears once more as his heart swelled with agonizing sorrow knowing the hundreds of years alone yet to come.

He felt a breeze brush past his cheek for a beat with the words, "_Boe i 'waen, melin nin (_4). _A-'vosto (_5)_,_" she whispered. Thranduil's heart began to race. He knew that once the spirit had spoken its final words, it would depart permanently. He choked for a moment as Legolas froze and turned towards his father, eyes fixed unmoving as if he could see the very form of his mother. Thranduil recognized the sound of glistening joy, genuine happiness in Caradathil's smile as she must have returned the gaze of the boy. "_Ge melin, ioneg (_6)." Legolas suddenly frowned a little and Thranduil turned to look behind him, desperate to catch one last glimpse of the soul of the woman he would always love. Instead he felt a strange embrace, all about him, all at once. "_Guren níniatha n'i lû n'i a-govenitham, Hîr vuin (_7)."

"Caradathil," Thranduil whispered urgently. The whispering began to fade and he felt his heart wrench in agony again as silence fell over the forest. He lowered his head and began to sob softly as he buried his long, pale fingers in the earth in front of the dolman. "_N'i lû tôl, Hiril vuin (_8)."

Thranduil suddenly heard scuffling and a few leaves crunching beneath snapped twigs. He glanced to where Legolas had been sitting and felt a panic rise in him at noticing he was gone. He turned and felt his heart both rise in pride and melt in admiration. Somehow, even being but a few weeks old, the tiny elfling's hands had fashioned a crown out of twigs similar in almost every way to his father's. He set it down on the sodden side of the dolman, now covered in specks of crumpled leaves and dirt with a few twigs having either made holes in his clothes or clinging to him. The boy had clearly walked, not unusual for an elfling of a few months to do, but he was much younger than that, to the side of the tomb where his mother lay within and stroked the earth lovingly. He pulled his tiny hand towards his face, fingers spread out and palm completely exposed and accepting of the kiss he placed upon it before pressing it against the mound and patting it affectionately. "_Galu, Nana (_9)," he said innocently as he placed the child-crafted crown over the side of the earthen grave. Thranduil knelt watching him for a moment in shock as Legolas kept both hands on the mound. He turned slowly to his father and frowned. "When will she come back?" he asked innocently.

A burning dagger pierced the Elvenking's heart as he suddenly realized that Legolas was more aware of his mother's departure than he had anticipated. It stood to reason, of course. Both Caradathil and Thranduil had walked and spoken earlier than most elflings and had even learned to read before their second year. He scooted towards his son and pulled him into his lap, gently pulling away the remnants of the boy's toiling in the forest for a proper memorial. "She will not return, Legolas, not to us," he said softly. The boy looked up at him sadly and a single tear trickled down his cheek.

"_Am man_? (10)" he asked softly.

Thranduil wrapped both arms around him and pressed his forehead down against the crown of the boy's head. "She is needed elsewhere," he said sadly. A few breezes began to pick up and the Elvenking could faintly hear the high-pitched haunting strains of music that welcomed spirits to the other side. The tears within him were replaced for a moment and the mourning suddenly became a need to sing with his last child, her last gift, settled neatly in his lap as he did so.

"_**Oh, of all the finery, that here I've worn,  
**__**More resplendent was your countenance.  
**__**And of all the good, that ere I've done,  
**__**Is vain without your company.  
**__**And all I've said, for want of love,  
**__**To memory now, each one recalls.  
**__**So fill to me, the parting glass,  
**__**Goodnight my love, my joy, my all.**_

_**Oh if I had magic, more to give,  
**__**And mastery of each element,  
**__**I would bid my true love rise and live  
**__**And cease this endless love's lament.  
**__**Her pale soft flesh and selfless lips,  
**__**Alone will hold my heart in thrall.  
**__**So fill to me the parting glass,  
**__**Goodnight my love, my joy, my all.**_

_**And of all the sons, my dearest birthed,  
**__**Five all, but one still stays a while;  
**__**Let their mother join the four passed on  
**__**And the one left to me renew a smile.  
**__**But since it falls unto my lot,  
**__**That he shall live and you shall not,  
**__**Fill once more to me the parting glass  
**__**Goodnight my love, my joy, my all.**_

_**Oh, when daylight breaks upon the trees.  
**__**The leaves will breathless watch our child.  
**__**And perchance his innocence and charm  
**__**Will at least in part like you beguile.  
**__**And days shall pass, with peace and war,  
**_'_**Til Greenwood's greatness be no more,  
**__**But 'til then I'll raise the parting glass  
**__**Goodnight my love, my joy, my all."**_

"Will we ever see her again?" Legolas whispered, breaking the silence and still unsure of why such an important person would just up and leave the realm with a family still alive and in such good weather.

"Someday; we may yet see her again in the world beyond our own in the undying lands," Thranduil explained. Legolas shifted uncomfortably as his father sighed and stood slowly. "Now," he said. "Let us leave your mother in peace."

"You're not going to leave like that, are you?" Legolas asked in genuine concern. Once again, the king felt a little flabbergasted by the remark. It was not entirely unheard of for an elfling so young to speak, walk, or even begin reading, but to ask such a somber question or to think of such dark things was unheard of. Thranduil cleared his throat and thought about how best to answer this.

"I will be here when you need me, _melin nin (_11). I promise," he said. Legolas seemed pacified by this and laid his head against his father's chest. Thranduil shuddered at how right this felt even without Caradathil by his side. The anger that created the blame was waning quickly and now he could take the queen's place in nurturing the little leaf they had formed together. He leaned down and gently kissed the side of his son's cheek for the first time. "As long as you need me, I truly do promise I will be here."

"_Ni lassui, Ada (_12)," Legolas said softly as he closed his eyes.

Thranduil sighed heavily as they returned to the palace. The room grew immediately silent as he entered, but he gestured immediately for the guests to continue as they were. The guests watched in cautious concern at the Elvenking who, for the first time, refused to allow a nursemaid to take his son from him. Elrond watched with a measure of pride and felt relief at thinking Thranduil was more sensible than even Galadriel had predicted. The boy would bring him out of grief and into a whole new set of worries and grievings. Night fell silently, and while the palace continued its goings on as usual, the pace seemed a bit slower and the king a little less grand for the time being. Elrond predicted that would pass within a few weeks depending on how vibrant and curious Legolas would become. The guests and servants alike slowly settled into bed, but Thranduil remained standing over the cradle where his son slept. He had released the weeks of anger and frustration of this child's birth being the reason for his most tragic loss. In fact, it seemed as if he had forgotten entirely that he had ever placed blame on the innocent little elfling. He reached down and stroked the boy's head affectionately. Legolas sighed and smiled in his sleep as his father's fingers brushed against something rough and thin. Thranduil sighed and plucked yet another portion of a fallen leaf from the child's head. How he had managed to get himself covered in the fragments of the forest floor was still somewhat of a mystery since he had only toddled around the dolman, not rolled in the dirt like a dwarfling. He removed the leaf and marveled at the golden hair he had inherited from his father and the darker green eyes he had inherited from his Silvan mother. Thranduil sighed and reminded himself that, no matter what was to come in the future, he would always have his little Green Leaf to comfort him.

(*)

"Thranduil, mellon nin, please try to calm yourself," Elrond said firmly this time standing in his own kingdom looking deeply into the frantic eyes of Greenwood's Elvenking. "Your son has grown in skill and strength and cunning. There is nothing to fear of his joining this noble cause."

"Nothing to fear?! I send my only son, my only son, Peredhel, to bring you news of the creature Gollum's escape and what do you do?" Thranduil ranted angrily. Elrond sighed and turned away towards the open archways in the hall. He had heard of Thranduil's arrival and moved quickly to go out and meet him only to be met halfway through the halls by the dizzying speed of Thranduil wanting both answers and violence to salve the rage incurred with the news of his son having joined four halflings, two men, a dwarf, and the wizard Gandalf on some ridiculous expedition to destroy Sauron's ring. "You send my son, my only son, my pride and joy and everything I hold dear to saunter off towards Mordor with nothing to protect him but a gaggle of unskilled men and halflings and their pet dwarf!" Elrond raised a brow reproachfully at the older king and folded his arms. "Well how else would you refer to the son of that bumbling Gloin?"

"A stalwart creature ready to raise his axe in defense of your son, Thranduil, your only son," Elrond countered. "Had Ellodan and Elrohir not already been on the hunt elsewhere they too would've joined those that guard Frodo on his journey."

"But my son," Thranduil wailed, slipping down onto one of the marble seats and burying his face in his hands. "My only son, Elrond. Whatever shall I do if his fate is that of his brothers that passed before him?"

"I hardly see a comparison. They were trained by others in your service, Thranduil, not you yourself. An archer and a swordsman could ask for no better a teacher than you; you who has faced the great serpents of the north," Elrond offered kindly, taking a seat beside his friend. Thranduil began to sob uncontrollably muttering about how fragile his son was and how that only 500 years ago he broke a solid rib in half and needed care for 3 months. Elrond rolled his eyes out of Thranduil's sight thinking about how mangled both Ellodan and Elrohir had been upon returning from the fight with the orcs that had taken Celebrian. Instead he kept silent and put both hands on his friend comfortingly. While Elrond knew that Thranduil was no stranger to loss and that he had faced loss as well, he had never known the loss of a child like Thranduil and prayed that he would never know such darkness. Thranduil had fear Elrond knew he did not understand and did not want to ever understand. He shook the creeping fears and thoughts of how he would handle the loss of the twins away and instead concentrated on comforting his friend for the sixth time. "Thranduil, listen to me. With the company your son keeps he will be more than capable of handling any manner of evil. They face orcs, goblins, goblin men, men of the wicked tribes, and even the Nazgul if they stray too far from a safe path," Elrond offered. "There will be no dragons or pit fiends or balrogs, nothing the boy hasn't already faced and defeated with ease."

Thranduil sighed, still shuddering from the typical sobbing of a single father terrified for their offspring. He nodded slowly. "I suppose you're right," he said softly.

"Gather your spirits in your own time and then come and join me at my table," Elrond said with a brotherly pat on the Elvenking's shoulder.

Thranduil watched his friend leave and sighed heavily. He stood, slowly, and watched the sun begin to set over the mountains surrounding this peaceful valley and Rivendell itself. He sighed and placed a hand on the cool marble. Still burned both wonderfully and woefully in his mind was the day that Legolas had first spoken to him, the day they had bid goodbye to Caradathil. He stared out into the horizon silently praying that the journey was already well over and that the boy would return any moment now.

_**Oh, of all the grandeur in my crown,  
**__**I would pass it ne'er to a soul, but thee.  
**__**And of all good deeds, that you might own,  
**__**I will grieve til gladness is returned to me.  
**__**And all I've said, cannot relate,  
**__**The joy you brought a king contrite.  
**__**So I wait and lift the parting glass,  
**__**Til home's my love, my son, my pride."**_

1 Elvish: My friend  
2 Half-Elven, in this case used as more of an insult, but also part of Elrond's title  
3 Elfin tradition: the father gives the first name, the mother the second years later in life  
4 Sindarin: I have to go, my love.  
5 ": Don't be afraid.  
6 ": I Love you, my son.  
7 ": I will be very sorrowed until I see you again, my beloved king.  
8 ": Until then, my beloved queen.  
9 ": Goodbye, mommy.  
10 ": Why not?  
11 ": My love/lovely  
12 ": Thank you, daddy.


End file.
